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Seeing the real you (it's not what I imagined)

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Peter blinked slowly.
A ceiling came into focus. It was an unfamiliar ceiling with unfamiliar stains and it lacked the glowing stars stickers on his own ceiling at home.
He frowned sleepily. Something was weird and off somehow, but right now he couldn't pinpoint what exactly…

"Oh heya. You're alive."
He froze at the voice and jerked his head to the side.

Deadpool.
He was in one room with Deadpool and his spider sense hadn't tingled.
He was in one room with Deadpool.
Deadpool who was obviously ready to pounce and kill him in his sleep, something red and sticky dripping down his fingers…blood, it only could be blood of one of his many helpless victims or… Peter's blood… crap, he was going to…

Peter had nightmares that started exactly like this.

He jumped. He hadn't made a conscious decision to move, but as always his body reacted before he had even time to blink. One second he was lying on the couch, the next he was crouching next to the farthest away wall, breathing frantically.

"Wow," Wade drawled slowly. "You are fast."

Peter shook his head and tried to clear his blurry vision. He felt close to panicking. Something was wrong with his body. Everything felt so heavy and so slow. Deadpool must've done something to him. He must have…
"Stay back!" he ordered. His voice sounded rough and he broke halfway. "Hands where I can see them!"

"Dude," Wade said, wiggling with his fingers. "My hands? Seriously? Why don't you worry about the things I can do with my toes? Not to mention my teeth."

"Where am I?" Peter demanded. Slowly he started to panic. After a quick glance downwards he noticed that he wore nothing but an unfamiliar looking green shirt that was at least three sizes to big on him. "What happened? What did you do? And where's my stuff? Stay…-stay where you are, don't move!"

"That's a lot of questions, pumpkin. Do you want me to answer them chronologically, alphabetically or completely at random?"

Peter blinked again, some of his panic ebbing a little.
Mainly because Wade still hadn't moved from his spot.

So…okay, maybe Wade wasn't exactly ready to pounce. He sat sprawled in an armchair, mask rolled up a to reveal his mouth and a stripe of his badly scarred skin. He was eating a taco, and the red, sticky liquid on his fingers was… taco sauce?
Peter started to feel a little bit better. And a lot more stupid.
But, you know, it was still Deadpool and Deadpool was always dangerous.

"Where am I?" he repeated.

"What does it look like?" Wade cocked his head, looking curious and mildly amused. "It's not the Batcave, in case you wondered. Can I keep eating now? My taco's getting cold. And bad things tend to happen when my taco gets cold. Like people loosing their limbs and heads and stuff."

Peter threw a suspicious gaze around.
Admittedly it didn't look like 'Deadpool's secret underground torture chamber'. Now that was a relief. It looked like a pretty ordinary apartment, kind of dirty and messy, but not worse than Peter's own room at home.

"What did you do to me?" Peter asked, fighting to stay upright. His head swam.

"I'm starting to feel seriously underappreciated, Spidey. I'm the hero here! Haven't you read the author's note?"

"Wade…"

"There was a bomb - so not my fault - and a green, nasty looking dude on a flying skateboard, which by the way, is so early nineties. He was totally the bad dude and you were, like, the damsel in need of a dashing hero. And here I was."

Green Goblin. Explosion. Right.
Pieces slowly started to come back to him.
His mask… Wade had seen his face!
He remember the smell of burnt flesh and gagged involuntary. His leg…

Peter flinched and all of a sudden he became acutely aware of the pulsating sensation in his lower body. He forced himself not to look down, pretty sure he wasn't going to like what he would see.

Wade took another bite of his taco.

Peter stared at him.
There was a moment of almost dizzying disorientation, as the world kind of tumbled around him and he tried to find a fix point, any point, that still made sense. There wasn’t one.
He was…here. And everything hurt. And Wade was here. And he hadn’t tried to kill him yet. It boggled the mind.

Maybe his brain decided to short-circuit there and then, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but one minute he was standing (okay, he was leaning against the wall, but he was in a somewhat vertical position) and in the next the whole world seemed to tilt at its axis and he was falling…and all of a sudden he found himself smashed against a broad chest.

Wade had caught him.
For a second his vision grayed around the edges and Peter fought to stay conscious.

"Okay. Unexpected. Didn’t take you for the swooning type, but hey, whatever floats your boat, I guess. I don’t judge.“
Peter felt the low rumble of his voice as he talked and then he was…picked up and…no way.

"Let me down!“ he all but squeaked. It was a manly squeak though. Very manly. And not at all like a little dog about to get neutered.

"We already played this game, don’t you remember? I carried you here. Like a little princess.“

"You didn’t!“

"Yeah, I was surprised, too. But one of the voices in the little yellow boxes insisted it would be the nice thing to do. Since I’m apparently the hero-type nowadays. I’ll try to fit the stereotype, you know? I even got a cat down from a tree recently. I shot at her.“

"…you’re not supposed to shoot cats."

"Hey, I missed. And she jumped down. Everybody happy, right?“ More careful than Peter had expected Wade lowered him on the couch again.
Peter hissed a little as his leg got jarred and felt his eyes water. He flinched instinctively when Wade poked at his hip.

"You should probably not move too much for the next few days…well, hours, but it looks as if we're past the 'raw hamburger' stage already. You heal pretty fast. That’s nifty. Not as fast as yours truly, but not bad for a baby hero.“

"I’m not a baby, I’m…“

"Sixteen,“ Wade said and Peter clapped his mouth shut, because Wade’s look was all intense and weirdly serious all of a sudden. „You lied to me. Twice. Which is pretty badass for a supposedly good guy."

"I'm… sorry, I…" Peter paused. "What the fuck? I don't need to apologize to you. I'm not sorry. That's so not your business."

"Tough," spat Wade, who sounded almost angry. "Your name is Peter Parker, you won the fucking price for a fucking science project last year for your fucking high school and you’re fucking sixteen years old.“

"How do you…?“ Suddenly his mouth felt dry.
Deadpool knew his name. That was even worse than the face. It was highly unlikely that Deadpool would ever run into Peter Parker and recognize him in a crowd, but knowing his name…
Knowing his name meant he would always know where to find him.

"I know you think I’m all brawn and no brains, but I actuallydo know how to research somebody.“

"You can’t tell anyone. Ever!“
Wade knew. Wade knew! Wade who could never keep his mouth shut! Peter groaned inwardly.
Jesus Christ.

"You know my name," Wade pointed out.

"Everybody knows your name! It's different!"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Peter was quiet for a moment. "I’m almost seventeen. It’s just two more months. It doesn’t count.“

"The hell it does.“ But there was no real heat beneath his words.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Wade, or maybe not wrong (because when was there ever NOT something wrong with Wade), but …off somehow. He acted different than usually, somewhat subdued and almost restrained. Just a little, but enough to make Peter feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

"What?“ he said.

"What what?“ Wade replied.

"What’s going on?“

"In my head? A lot. You can’t imagine all the ticky yellow boxes that keep interrupting my inner monologue which is quite deep and important right now. In reality? Probably not that much. Must be your fault. You’re kind of a party-pooper anyway.“

"No, I mean…" Peter paused and run his tongue across his lip, unsure what to say. "Why is it such a big deal to you?"

Wade looked at him. "Guess why."

"It's not as if you care who you fight!" Peter said exasperated. "Don't tell me you suddenly developed a conscience."

Wade was quiet.

"It changes nothing."

In a single fluid movement that was faster than anything Peter could've anticipated Wade crossed the space between them and gripped his shirt. Peter tried to get up, but the hand on his chest pushed him back down. The other hand reached for Peter's face. Strong fingers enclosed his chin and forced his head upwards. He struggled and gasped for air, more out of surprise than actual pain.

The grip around his face tightened and all of a sudden Deadpool's mask was so close, way too close to his face.
"It changes everything."

Peter felt his eyes widen.

Wade stared down at him.
Fingertips were digging into his cheeks and Peter froze, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and hopelessly overpowered.
Wade run with his thumb across Peter's lower lip, his usually so expressive mask impassive and unreadable.

"Let me go," Peter said softly, throat dry. "You need to let me go. I need to go home."

For seconds that felt like hours Wade didn't move. His massive body pushed down on Peter and it should've hurt, but somehow he was too numb to feel much of anything. Something was going on that made him feel as if he had missed half the conversation.

Suddenly the grip on his face vanished and in the blink of an eye the weight on him was gone. Peter gulped for air. Part of him felt almost dizzy with relief. Another part of him felt like he swallowed something burning.

"Go," Wade said, not looking at him. He had his back turned to Peter, shoulders stiff and almost defensive. "I think you've spend enough time in my issue. Crossovers get boring after a while. Keep the shirt. Green totally cramps my style."

Peter left.
But the whole way back Wade's voice kept echoing in his head.

'It changes everything…'